Holding my grief like a slow-dying hatchling, I sought out the wisdom of the pipe-smoking hag. My plans were to prostrate myself at her feet..
The silver tongue of that thinning moon was licking me in just the right places, and I crept from my bed like a lust-drunk and..
A midnight fit, it was. A touch of early-spring fatigue salted with a good deal of extrasensory indulgence sent me straight to a well-attended grief ritual for this, our most beloved world. Here, I came upon an ominous spirit..
These are the days of the late-winter ache, and I’ve learned to hear the haunted call of those never-born-always-dead hags who are wiser than I..
Before I start writing this blog, I want to get a few things out of the way. I speak for no one except myself and..
I wouldn’t bother her. Not today. Best keep those formalities tucked away in your pockets for those mannerly friends blessed with visions tamer than hers,..
Stand just here and indulge my snow-struck heart for a moment. Hold my hand so tightly our pitiful flesh loses all meaning; then and only..
Within modern witchcraft and Paganism there’s always some discussion or other about cultural appropriation, whether or not to mix pantheons, who can worship what and..